Page 18 of Pregnant By A Rich Demon 3

“I’m sure.”

I pulled up my phone with my free hand and scrolled through my photos until I found it.

The picture I’d taken at the mall weeks ago when Amai had handed me his black card to pay for the maternity clothes.

I’d snapped a photo of the front and back while he wasn’t looking—just the card number, expiration date, and CVV code visible in the frame.

At the time, I told myself it was just in case. Just a backup plan.

Phillip had taught me that lesson the hard way. Always have a backup plan. Always protect yourself. Because the moment you think someone has your back, they’ll stab you in it.

I hadn’t planned on using it.

But fuck it.

Amai owed me this. He owed me so much more than this.

“I have the payment information ready,” I said, my voice firm. “Can we schedule the appointment?”

“Of course. Let me see what Dr. Broussard has available.” More typing. “How does tomorrow at 10 a.m. sound?”

“Perfect.”

“Great. I’ll need the card information to hold the appointment and process the initial consultation fee.”

I read off the numbers from the photo, my voice steady, my hands surprisingly calm.

Celeste confirmed the details, and I heard the faint sound of a transaction processing.

“All set,” she said. “You’re confirmed for tomorrow at 10 a.m. Dr. Broussard will see you then.”

“Wait,” I said before she could hang up. “I need to make sure of a few things.”

“Of course. What do you need?”

I took a breath, steadying myself. “I need written confirmation that no information about me, my pregnancy, or my medical records will be released to anyone without my explicit permission.”

There was a beat of silence.

“Ms. Renois,” Celeste said slowly, “are you in a safe situation?”

The question caught me off guard.

Was I?

I thought about Amai. About the way he’d looked at me in that clinic. About the way he’d tried to follow me, tried to explain, tried to keep me close.

I thought about Kaisen. About the lies. About the manipulation.

I thought about Winston walking into that exam room with Yahmaria on his arm like some kind of fucked-up power play.

“I don’t know,” I admitted quietly. “But I’m trying to be.”

“Okay.” Celeste’s voice softened. “I’m going to make a note in your file that all communication goes through you directly. No one else. And I’ll let Dr. Broussard know about your requests. She’ll make sure everything is handled with complete confidentiality.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. We’ll see you tomorrow, Ms. Renois. And if you need anything before then—if you feel unsafe or need resources—please call us. We’re here to help.”